


At Home

by surfnakedd



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surfnakedd/pseuds/surfnakedd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you handle being the only true human in your group of friends. As if the pressures of High School aren't enough on their own? Most people do leave home after High School.<br/>However, maybe fleeing the country was a little overboard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

   He doesn’t know what he expected. It’s fall. It’s Beacon Hills.

   It may have been four years, but it’s still Beacon Hills.

   He rolls past the Welcome sign, tires crunching through the fallen leaves that scattered the road in bright yellows and vibrant reds.

   The girl in the passenger seat shifts restlessly. Adjusts her dress, plays with her hair. But remains quiet. He smiles and makes a bee-line for his old house, ignoring the fear and nerves twisting his gut.

\- - -

   ”Coming!” His Dad opens the door a few seconds after Stiles knocks. His eyes go wide, and he sucks in a shuttering breath. The lines on his face are deeper, his hair is more silver, but he’s still the same. He grabs Stiles’s shoulder and yanks him in to a hug that leaves the boy gasping for air, for more than one reason.

   ”Hey Dad.” Stiles’ voice is muffled in his fathers shirt. It hides the sound of the sob that threatens in his chest, thickens in his throat. He holds it back, takes a deep breath, and pushes away from his father to look him in the eye.

   ”Is she here?” His father’s blue eyes look over Stiles’ shoulder to the car. Stiles huffs a short laugh and rolls his eyes.

   ”Nah, I left her in London.” Stiles tries to joke. But he stops when his father’s face changes. He must see her through the window, because his eyes soften and his mouth pulls into a sad smile and he stops breathing for a second. “I’ll… go get her.” Stiles whispers.

   He remembers, he said once, that he would spend an eternity in the lowest circle of hell. Now he’s absolutely certain of that.

   ”C’mon baby.” he coos, unbuckling the two year old and pulling her from her car-seat. He hikes her over his hip. Having her in his arms quells his nerves a bit. He turns and walks back up to the porch. His dad is staring at the girl, a proud smile breaks across his face and Stiles wishes he couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. “Dad, meet Laura. Your granddaughter.”

   The sheriff inhales slowly, his smile spreading as he looks into her pale eyes. She tilts her head, brown hair shifting around her shoulders, but she doesn't smile, or laugh. She's shown barely any variation of happiness in three months.

   ”Can I?” His dad holds his hands out and Stiles feels a pang of guilt that he would even feel the need to ask. Stiles holds her out and he takes her in his arms, bouncing her lightly on his hip. “Hey sweetheart,” he says quietly, “It’s good to finally meet you…” she just stares at him, tilts her head again. “You’re beautiful.” He looks up at Stiles for a moment, then jerks his head toward the door, “C’mon son, it’s cold out here. And I’m pretty sure we have some catching up to do.”

   Stiles follows his father into the warmth of the house. He gets a little choked up when he sees the pictures on the walls, the books on the shelves, the couches. It’s all exactly the same. Except for one new picture on the wall, Laura, when she was three days old. Stiles had snapped a photo and sent it to his dad. Apparently he had it framed. It’s on the wall right beside a picture of Stiles’ mom. He’s home. 

   It’s a feeling he didn’t realize he'd been missing for four years.

   They make coffee, and sit in the kitchen with Laura. Stiles tells his father everything. When he’s not playing with Laura’s hands or petting her hair absently, he’s smiling at Stiles or listening patiently, or giving him consoling, empathetic shoulder squeezes.

   Stiles doesn’t get it. He had a breakdown. In a major way. He packed up and  _left_. He hasn’t seen his father in four years. But somehow he knows he’s forgiven. He wishes he wasn’t. God he does. He wishes his dad would yell at him, or give him the silent treatment. Because that’s what he deserves, right? He left his dad in charge of a town full of werewolves, and his father promised he’d keep them out of trouble for him. He  _had a kid_ , and his father never met her. He got engaged to a woman his father had never even seen before. He’s a  _shit_  son. And still, when he finishes telling about his failed attempt at living a normal life outside of Beacon Hills, his dad smiles at him while bouncing his granddaughter on his knee and says;

   ”Well I’m glad you’re back, Stiles. I really hope you’re here to stay.” his voice is gentle, hopeful.

   ”All my stuff’s in the car.” he says as an answer, and his voice cracks.

   ”Guess you should get it up to your room then, huh?”

   Stiles rubs a hand over his face, tries to ignore the burning pressure in his eyes. It doesn’t work, his breath comes out in a shaky whoosh, when he nods, and hot tears slip down his cheeks.

   Laura looks at him, her face twisting with sadness, and he’s already forcing himself to stop. Taking a deep breath and wiping the tears away with a sleeve. But she slides off Mr. Stilinski’s knee and stumbles over to her dad. She puts a hand on his knee, her voice comes out in a soft whimper. Stiles smiles, even laughs a little, picks her up and hugs her.

   ”It’s ok, baby. It’s ok. I’m fine.” he lies and kisses the side of her head. She seems to calm down, leaning away to look at him, press a small hand to his face. He smiles and kisses her palm. His dad watches, smiles, then stands from the table.

   ”C’mon kid. Bags aren’t gonna carry themselves.” he pats Stiles’ shoulder and pets Laura’s head. “And you two could probably use a nap.”

   Stiles nods. He carries Laura into the living room and deposits her on a couch.

   ”Stay here, baby. Ok?” she nods and he knows she’ll listen. He follows his father out to the car and starts toting his things inside.

   He’s halfway to the door with a duffelbag and the last box when he hears a car pull up. He hears the engine cut off and someone gets out so he figures it’s across the street. It’s only when he hears a familiar voice, his fingers go numb and the bag and box go tumbling onto the ground.

   ”Stiles.” the girl says, like she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. He turns and the strawberry-blonde is holding a casserole dish in one gloved hand, her free hand clasped over her mouth. She takes a deep breath, turns carefully and places the dish inside the car, then she’s running at him, the heals of her boots clicking on the pavement. And suddenly her arms are vice-tight around his neck, and he can’t breathe because the force of the hug knocked the wind from his lungs. He clutches at her, and he hadn’t realized until now how much he missed her.

   ”Oh my god, Lydia! I’ve missed you!” he breathes. He squeezes her and picks her up, swings her in a circle and she kicks her feet and laughs into his neck. When he lets her feet touch down again she immediately shoves away from him. She’s trying to glare, really, but she’s failing.

   ”You idiot!” she smacks his arm, hard, and he winces, “How could you do that to us? To me?! If it weren’t for your dad we would’ve thought you were dead! Stiles, you idiot!”

   ”I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he whispers, but he takes her face in his hands and kisses her forehead. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Even more so now. Her hair is even longer, the front twisted and pinned back but the rest falls around her pale green coat. Her make-up more subtle and mature. She grabs his wrists and squeezes them, smiles at him.

   ”He told us all when you called. He told us you were ok, but not much else. What happened? Are you just visiting?” she’s talking a little too quick, excited, “I was just bringing Mr. Stilinski dinner.”

   Stiles ignores the jolt of sadness that comes with the questions, “You were bringing him dinner?” he tilts his head, and she nods.

   ”Yeah. Allison and I decided about two weeks after he told us you left that he’d probably have a heart attack within the first few months you were gone if we didn’t intervene. We take turns bringing or cooking him dinner. Sometimes we do it together.” she shrugs, like it’s nothing, but Stiles' chest aches with gratitude and all he can do is hug her again.

   ”Thank you.” he says into her hair and she laughs again.

   ”Stupid as ever.” she leans back to look at him, “It’s so,  _so_  good to see you again! Stiles… we’ve all missed you so much.” her smile dies and Stiles hates himself for giving her a reason to look that wounded. “Are you just visiting?”

   He shakes his head. She looks at him and her eyebrows draw together.

   ”You’re moving back to Beacon Hills?” he nods, gives her a small smile. She’s about to hug him again.

   ”Lydia.” Stiles’ dad is on the porch. There’s mock annoyance in his tone, but he smiles at her. “What’ll it be tonight?”

   She turns to him with a sharp smile, “ _Vegetable_  lasagna.”

   He rolls his eyes. She fetches the dish from her car and hands it over to the sheriff with a peck on his cheek. He takes it inside and she turns to Stiles.

   ”Have you told anyone you’re here?”

   ”No. I just got in about an hour ago.” he says with a smile.

   She scoffs, “Were you  _going_  to tell anyone?”

   ”I was planning on calling Scott in the morning, then you. I figured telling you two, the entire town would know within minutes.” his smile stretches into a grin.

   She narrows her eyes at him. He expects an insult. “Your hair looks good grown out a little.” she says in stead. His hand automatically runs through his hair and he shrugs.

   ”Thanks.”

   ”You’re eating dinner with us tonight.”

   ” _Us_? As in, the pack? The whole pack?" he glances toward the house, thinks about Laura. “I can’t, Lydia. I have to-“

   ”No.” she holds up a gloved finger and her eyes narrow again, “Stiles, you left us. Without a word, without a goodbye. We called you, a thousand times… _each_. And you ignored us. If it weren’t for your dad we’d have a headstone with your name on it, sitting on a empty plot of land. So whatever it is that you have to do, it can wait til after dinner.”

   ”Lydia.” he falters when she glares at him, but straightens his shoulders and squares his jaw, “I.  _Can’t_. I can’t go to that house right now. I can't see him.”

   She softens immediately, the realization coming over her. She takes a deep breath.

   ”Ok. How about, you come to  _my_  house tonight. And it won't be the whole pack... Erica and Boyd are out of town, and Isaac has to work.”

   ”You have a house?”

   ”Well, it’s Jackson’s house.” she goes almost bashful, twirling her hair and blushing, “I just live in it with him.”

   ”And you’re getting married, when?” Stiles teases. She smacks his bicep.

   ”I’ll only call Scott. He’ll bring Allison, of course.”

   ”They’re back together?” Last time he saw Scott, he and Allison were talking again. But not…

   ”Oh, yeah. Going steady, three years. Anyway. It’ll just be them, and Jackson, and me. Ok?”

   Well he’s happy about that at least. “What if he doesn’t want to see me? He’s probably mad…” Stiles murmurs.

   Lydia scoffs. “Stiles, please. We were  _all_  mad at you,” his heart drops, “for about two months. Anger gave way when we realized you weren’t coming back. There’s not one person in the group that wont be happy to see you.”

   He wants to smile at that, but he just gives her a look that he hopes says  _yeah right_. She raises an eyebrow.

   ”Not.  _One_. Person. We all  _missed_  you. I think there was even some pining happening.” she smirks and Stiles has to remind himself that he doesn’t hit girls. “Scott’s your best friend. I think he deserves at least an explanation.”

   What’s he supposed to say to that? He shoves down the guilt and the sheer terror of seeing everyone again, and nods.

   She squeals, throws her arms around him. “Great, I’ll tell them to meet at the house. I’ll leave you to situate things. I’ll be back at five sharp to pick you up. Be ready to leave.” She bounces over to her car before Stiles has a chance to protest, and drives away.

   He looks down at his watch, it’s two thirty.

   ”I take it you won’t be here for dinner?” his dad asks when he comes through the door with the box and duffel he picked up off the walkway.

   He sighs and kicks the door closed. “Did you develope werewolf hearing while I was gone?” he says as an answer.

   ”I figured.” his dad laughs. Stiles looks over to see him sitting on the floor with his daughter. She’s looking at one of her storybooks. The one her mother used to read to her.  _The Giving Tree_.

   The sheriff stands and goes to warm the food up in the kitchen.

   ”It’s a little early for dinner isn’t it?” Stiles asks.

   ”She’s gotta eat before she goes to sleep, right?”

   Stiles just nods.

   ”Laura,” he says, he puts his things down and sits beside her on the floor, she climbs into his lap, pulling the book with her. He tucks her dark hair behind her ears and kisses her forehead. “Daddy’s gonna be gone for a little while tonight, ok?”

   She looks at him like she wants to protest, clutches at his shirt with her small hands and makes a soft whining sound.

   ”I promise I’ll be back real soon. It’s only for a little while. You’ll be sleeping.”  he strokes her hair and kisses her head again, “I’ll come back. I promise.”

   She lowers her eyes, but lets go of his shirt. He picks her up and carries her to the kitchen. He sits in a chair with her in his lap.

   ”You don’t mind watching her tonight do you? She’ll be sleeping, and she’s not a troublesome two-year-old. Surprisingly.” he lets out a short laugh.

   ”Of course not.” Mr. Stilinski smiles and puts a plate down with a small serving of lasagna on it an a fork.

   Stiles gives him a look he knows could never portray half of the gratitude he feels, his dad just smiles again and sits across the table.

   ”Besides,” he says, watching Stiles hand the fork to the little girl, “It’s not like I’ve never had a kid before.”

   They talk more while Laura feeds herself. One thing she doesn’t let anyone help with,  _ever_. Then Stiles takes her up and gives her a bath.

   He dresses her in clean pajamas and fishes through a box until he finds her blanket, and the blanket that smells like her mom. He gets her into his bed and wraps her up tight. He spends the next hour reading  _The Giving Tree_ , the way she used to read it, and just being with his daughter. Wanting her to feel safe and comfortable in the place that was his sanctuary for nineteen years.

   When she finally falls asleep, he takes a shower, gets dressed and goes down stairs. Where he sits down at his kitchen table and feels his feet cement to the tile floor.

   ”What’s wrong?”

   ”What? What do you- Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Why?” he looks up at his dad, who is leaning against the sink.

   ”Well. You look like you’re gonna puke. You’re pulling on your hair, and I just called your name three times and you didn’t hear it.” he shakes his head.

   ”You did?” Stiles lets his hand fall away from his hair. His dad nods. Stiles is quiet for a while. “It’s just… I’m just nervous. I mean… I left  _because_  of…” he sighs, his forehead thumps against the table.

   ”I know why you left, Stiles.” his dad says quietly, his sits across from him with a mug of coffee. Stiles’ head shoots off the table.

   ”You… You do?” his voice is barely there.

   ”Yeah. I do. I didn’t at first. But I had a couple years of silence in the house to think about it. After the first year I pretty much had it figured out.”

   Stiles just stares at him. He wants him to explain. But he doesn’t. He wants to know if his dad is right, but if he starts talking Stiles is afraid he might be  _too_ right. He might not like what he hears.

   ”You’re human, Stiles. It’s ok. You were drowning here. You needed to get out for a while. I understand. Your friends probably do too, now. They’ve gotten a lot better at listening since you left, not just with their wolf ears.”

   There’s a soft knock on the door.

   ”Especially the big bad Alpha. Who asked about you more than once.” His dad says quietly, then takes a drink from his coffee cup.

   It’s only four fifty. Lydia’s early, but Stiles is glad she is. He stands from his chair. His dad catches his hand and gives it a firm squeeze. He smiles at him before he leaves.

   Lydia talks the whole way there. Stiles feels like he’s dreaming. He watches buildings go by that he knows, but somehow doesn’t remember.

   It comforts him, and makes his stomach twist at the same time.

   They pull into the yard and wow.

   The house is beautiful. He wonders how much it costs. Then figures Jackson’s parents probably bought it for him. It’s huge, and white. A bright clean spot in the middle of the flurry of fall colors.

   Stiles breathes out, takes in a shaky shallow breath, and pulls his coat around him. Lydia pats his knee and smiles when he looks at her.

   ”It’s going to be ok.” she squeezes his knee, “Don’t be nervous, they’re going to be so happy to see you.”

   She climbs out of the car and the chill bites at his cheeks and nose. Hesitantly, he follows her up to the porch. She doesn’t knock, she just throws the door open and walks in. The smell of slow cooked stew hits him in the face. Mixed with the cold behind him and the warmth of the house, he can’t help the small smile.

   ”Smells delicious!” she calls into the house. She hangs her scarf over the back of one of the large couches as she passes. “Allison must have cooked.” A few laughs sound from further into the house. And it sounds like they’re setting the table. Stiles is looking around, wood floors, pale blue and white walls, large furniture. There’s a fire going. The mantle is littered with picture frames. Stiles walks around a couch to get a better look. There’s at least a dozen pictures. All of the pack. Just seeing their pictures makes his heart ache.

   He wont admit he feels a bit jealous. He doesn’t really even realize he feels that way, until he realizes he shouldn’t. At the end of the mantle, next to a picture of Lydia and Jackson, are two picture frames.

   In one, Stiles is in his old lacrosse uniform, he’s kneeling in the grass with Scott, they’re both holding their helmets on their knees and grinning. Scott’s eyes are closed. He remembers Allison taking this.

   In the other, Stiles is laying in the shade, his jacket balled up as a pillow under his head. He’s clearly sleeping. But there’s the whole pack, laying around him. Each of them touching him, a hand on his shoulder, or a head on his stomach, a leg thrown across his, fingers entwined in his own. They’re all asleep. The only one missing, and actually he’s not on the mantle anywhere, is Derek. He’s assuming he took the picture. Obviously, Stiles doesn’t remember this one. He didn’t even know it existed. He does know it was taken early spring. About three months before he left.

   He smiles, fondness welling inside of him, and turns to see Lydia with a hand on her hip, waiting for him. She gestures for him to follow and she walks towards the back of the house.

   Stiles follows.

   ”Took you long enough to get back here.” he hears Jackson say, and  _wow_. Who would’ve thought he’d have missed Jackson’s voice? “Did you get lost?”

   Lydia scoffs, Stiles can see her smirk.

   ”No. But someone else did.” she quips. The room falls silent. Clattering plates stop moving, the water in the kitchen cuts off. The only sound in the house is the fire cracking, and Lydia’s heels clicking on the wood floors as she takes a few steps to the side. She looks at him expectantly.

   He’s hit suddenly with a horrible realization. She didn’t tell them. No one knows he’s here. He thinks if he’s quick enough maybe he can get to the door before they notice it's  _him_.

   But Lydia glares and crooks her finger for him to step into view. They probably smell him already, so running is out of the question. He complies, as slow as possible. Taking tiny steps. She reaches over and grabs a hold of his sleeve, jerks him into view. He gasps, almost falls over, but regains his footing. He looks up just as a plate smashes on the floor.

\- - -


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As most humans have come to know, family dinners aren't easy.  
> But Pack dinners used to be...

   He has enough time to register that everyone in the room looks surprised. Well almost everyone. Jackson looks like he’s seen a ghost. Allison’s surprise transforms into happiness almost instantly.

    _Derek_ , who is oddly enough  _standing at the sink with a pile of smashed ceramics at his feet_ , looks  _horrified_. Like someone just slapped him. And killed a puppy. At the same time.

   Well that’s a nice welcoming.

   Slowly his eyes trace along Stiles’ face, then down his body. When they make eye contact again he looks relieved… And still scared.

   Stiles wasn’t prepared for this.

   Then there’s arms around his neck, strangling him in a hug. Scott’s arms. And that  _is_  a nice welcoming. He backs off for just a second and Allison squeezes between them, clutching at Stiles for a moment. Even Jackson walks over, gives Stiles a solid thump over his heart and smiles at him.

   Then there’s a flurry of questions. And changing expressions, and overflowing emotions, and Stiles is feeling a little… overwhelmed.

   ”Guys.” no one listens. “Guys!” Stiles feels like shrinking back into a corner. Or disappearing into the floor.

   ”Maybe we should let him sit down, and eat. Then we can ask questions.” Lydia says calmly. Scott, Allison, and Jackson back off. Stiles hears the water running and looks up to see Derek washing dishes, or something. His shoulders are tense.

   Scott ushers Stiles over to the round dining-room table and sits next to him. Lydia and Allison join Derek in the kitchen and finish setting the table. Finally, Lydia sits on his other side, in between him and Jackson and Allison seats herself next to Scott. Which puts Derek… directly in front of Stiles.

   Derek sets down a huge pot of beef stew in the center of the table and sits. Allison starts spooning it into their bowls.

   She sits and they start eating in silence. There’s an energy buzzing in the air, and anticipation. Stiles nerves are making him jumpy. Scott, who’s sitting to his right, reaches for his drink and Stiles actually jumps.

   This catches people’s attention. Lydia glares around the table and they all go back to eating.

   ”This is really good, Allison.” Stiles says quietly.

   ”Thanks.” she chirps, and grins. He smiles with the chance to see her dimples again.

   Thirty minutes, and three bites of stew later, Jackson asks the one question Stiles had hoped to avoid. Well, if he’ being honest there’s a  _list_  of forbidden questions.

   ”Why did you leave?”

   Stiles’ surprise is masked by a smile when he hears the distinct  _thud_  of the toe of Lydia’s pink pump coming in contact with Jackson’s shin. He jumps, and grits his teeth with a pointed glare in Lydia’s direction. She smirks.

      ”So how was Oxford?” Allison asks, brightening the suddenly dark mood with her token smile and evil dimples. “Your dad told us that’s why you went abroad.”

   ”Oh! It was, uh…” Stiles searches for the right word. If he lies they’ll know, and there’s no point in not telling them. They’re gonna find out. He’d just like to take it slow. “Short.” he finally says. Allison tilts her head and Lydia raises an eyebrow. “Well, I, uh, I only went for a day… On a visit.”

   ”What?” Lydia shifts next to him to give him her full attention. Stiles can feel the rant coming. Like a storm building in the air. “You were gone for four years, Stiles.  _Four_! What were you doing? Vacationing?”

   ”No. I was,” he tries, but he’s not sure they want to hear the rest of that explanation.

   ”What? Stiles, why on earth would you stay away for that long if you weren’t doing something?”

   ”I was doing something.” he says quietly. Everyone at the table is staring at him now.

   ”What were you doing?” Allison asks quietly.

   He wrestles with the answers, trying to hold them back, and force them out at the same time. Getting engaged. Trying to keep a job. Raising a kid. Finally he settles with;

   ”Paying rent.” he stares down at his plate as he says it. “In London.”

   ”What’s that supposed to mean?” Scott says. Stiles shakes his head.

   ”You weren’t planning on coming back. At all.” Derek says. His voice sounds… off. It’s not a question. Derek’s too smart to not know the answer to something that simple. Stiles stays quiet. He can’t bring himself to look up. Not when he can hear Scott’s breathing deepen, something he does when he’s upset, and see Lydia’s hand clenched in the fabric of her skirt.

   ”You weren’t coming back?” Scott asks, his voice is tiny in the silence of the room. It takes a little while, but Stiles musters up the strength to shake his head. “What, and you weren’t going to return phone calls, or E-mails? You weren’t going to visit? Because you didn’t over the past four years. Was it just going to continue like that?”

   ”I can’t…” Stiles can’t keep his eyes from darting to Derek’s face. The look he doesn’t see there hurts. No hurt, no hope. Not even curiosity. Just a blank stare. Stiles bites the inside of his cheek and takes a breath. “I just needed a change of scenery.”

   ”That’s when you move to the next town, Stiles! Not out of the  _country_!” Scott yells.

   ”Scott.” Allison says, very quiet. Very wary. Like he’s a wild animal. But it occurs to Stiles that maybe Scott isn’t the wild animal. Maybe  _he_  is. Like he’s a wild bird that landed on the porch railing and Allison’s trying to keep Scott from moving too fast, or being too loud. Trying to keep him from scaring it away again.

   ”Well what were you doing for four years?” Jackson starts in again. Oh look, another forbidden question.

   ”Living.” Stiles chirps, forcing another bite down. He glances around the table. Both girls look pissed. Lydia more so. Jackson is smirking, Scott is sulking, and Derek is… not doing anything. Still watching with a blank expression. Unamused, uninterested. Stiles forces down the scowl and tries to mentally loosen the knot in his stomach. “Y’know,” he presses on, “working, renting a small apartment, fixing up the jeep. Had a girlfriend.” he shrugs. Derek’s eyes cut sharply back to Stiles from wherever they’d wandered.

   And there it is. A small crack in the porcelain mask. Stiles suddenly realizes he wants to see it shatter, so he presses on.

   ”She was gorgeous. Long, dark hair, bright blue eyes. I met her at the library.” he glances over at Derek, nonchalant  and Derek’s sending daggers in his direction. Stiles smiles, and continues. “She was looking for some weird book I’d never heard of. The Fault In Our Stars.” he pauses for a moment, caught in the memory. Suddenly he doesn’t feel so smug. “Anyway, turns out they din’t have it. But she sat and told me about it for thirty minutes, and I was done.”

   Scott is staring at Stiles. “That’s great man.” he says finally, “Did she come with you?”

   And there goes number one on the list.

   Stiles’ smile fades instantly. Scott frowns, leans forward on his elbows like he always did when he was listening.

   ”Nah.” Stiles waves a hand, “She uh… Nah.” He stares down at his stew.

   ”What, is that why you came running home? She was tired of looking at your face?” Jackson jokes. It’s just a regular  _Jackson_  stab. But it hurts.

   ”No.” Stiles sets his spoon down, still staring at his food, “I came running home because I got tired of looking at her name carved into that shiny marble headstone.”

    He waits for a moment, lets it sink in, then stands to leave. Lydia latches on to his wrist.

   ”Please, Stiles.” she whispers, and gives him that  _look_. and his chest aches with affection he’d done a good job of forgetting about, until now. He braves a look around the table and everyone is wearing similar pleading looks.

   He remembers deciding to leave. Deciding to run away from the hopelessness that was his tie to these people. He remembers the full three months it took to build up. He remembers how  _hard_  it was to finally make a decision. How difficult it was to ignore the doorbell, lock his window, pull down the blinds. For a week. Just long enough to pack his things. How bad it hurt when he pulled the jeep out of the driveway in the middle of the night, waved goodbye to his father and sped out of town without so much as a goodbye to anyone else. Every time he pulled over on the side of the interstate and had to convince himself to  _not_  turn around. And the suffocating regret he felt, watching Beacon Hills disappear from sight out the airplane window. And mostly how hard it was to hit mute, and shove his phone deep into his pocket the one time _his_ name and picture appeared on the screen. To wonder what would have been said had he answered.

   But he can't forget the ease of stepping off that plane in London. Finding himself an appartment and not worrying about things that bump in the night. Sure there's probaly werewolves in England, but he didn't have to worry about them. He didn't have to take care of them, and lose sleep on full moon nights because he couldn't stop thinking about them locked up. Four years. He bought food without having to worry about feeding rabid carnivores. He kept his windows locked, and only had to open them for a cool breeze in spring. He only had to clean up after himself for quite a while. For years, he breathed easier. Lived easier.

   ”Stiles,” Derek says in a very quiet, serious tone, “we’re your pack.”

   He’s hit, violently, with the memory of that. The closeness. The bond.  _Pack_.

   It’s so foreign now. He’s spent a long time in the normal world. Where things like Pack and werewolves don’t exist. Where people don’t bond like that.

   Normal People become friends, good friends even. But they don’t go around pulling people in to a big dysfunctional family. They don’t form groups of friends so close you don’t want to go home at night, because laying on the living room floor in a tangle of limbs and blankets is more comfortable than your own bedroom. They don’t spend hours just curled on couches with girls they have no intention of sleeping with, petting their hair and talking. They don’t have big family dinners every night. Normal people fight and stay mad at each other for more than twenty minutes. They don’t take turns acting like the parents that most of them don’t have, nurturing and nursing and loving.

   Normal friends don’t save each other’s lives no matter the cost. They don’t pull bullets from each other’s flesh, and watch as their friend’s family members are buried, and chain each other up so they don’t kill half the town, then come to get them in the morning. They don’t hold each other while they cry, because their lives are so screwed up. They don’t wipe away tears, and dried blood, and smile, and promise it’ll be ok in the morning. Normal people don’t stick together no matter what, for the rest of their unnatural lives.

   Normal people break the hearts of the people they love. Normal people promise they’ll be there ‘till the end, then they  _leave_.

   Stiles spent the first year after Scott turned wishing life would go back to normal. He’d stopped wishing for that, slowly. He thinks now, he finally got his wish. He got to be normal. He got to be  _really_  human. And it sucked.

  “I’m sorry.” he whispers. “But I had to leave. I was just… I couldn’t… I’m _human_. I’m not a werewolf. I’m not mated to a werewolf. I’m not immune, or a hunter. I’m not special. I’m just  _human_.”

   ”No.” Lydia smiles at him, she pulls on his hand gently and he sits back down. “Stiles, if you were  _just_  a human, we would’ve replaced you. Don’t you think? If you were just a human we wouldn’t flock to you with our troubles.”

   ”And our exaustion.” Scott interjects.

   ”And our hunger.” Jackson smirks, because lets be honest, they spent more time eating at Stiles’ house than they did doing anything useful back in the day.

   ”You  _belong_  with us.” Allison says confidently. “Who knows  _why_ , or  _how_. But you’ve been gone for four years, and there’s been this huge, obnoxious,  _Stiles_ shaped hole in the pack. And it’s been really hard piecing things together around it. You’re not just a human. You’re  _our_  human.”

\- - -

   They’re lounging on the patio after dinner. They’ve been there just long enough for Stiles’ fingers to go numb.

   It’s cold, but it’s a beautiful night. The stars are shining, the neighborhood is quiet, and the group’s been filling the silence with idle, lighthearted chatter.

   ”Rebecca.” he says when the current conversation ends. He tears his gaze away from the stars and glances around the group. Then lets out a short laugh. “Her name was Rebecca. She was, uh, short. She had long, dark hair, hazel eyes.” He finds himself smiling. And he wonders why he can’t stop talking about her.

   Four years, no calls, no letters. And after that particular dinner conversation. He felt he owed them this at least.

   ”She loved flowers, and yellow sports cars. She drank way too much coffee, and only slept four hours a night, I swear. She also wore a lot of leather. And she was ornery as hell.” he pauses, takes a deep breath, “I found out she had cancer two years ago.” He leaves out the part about finding out she had cancer because she was in the hospital after giving birth. And the part about his daughter not talking ever since he had to explain that they couldn’t see mommy anymore. “She already knew.”

   ”You really loved her.” Scott says quietly. His hand rests on Stiles’ shoulder.

   And this is the part where Stiles stops talking. Because there’s no truthful answer he can give that doesn’t make him a shitty person. How do you tell people that you had a daughter with a woman, and got engaged to that same woman; that she  _died_  but you didn’t  _love_  her? Not like you should have. Not like you're supposed to. And sure as hell not as much as the people you left behind.

   ”She was… normal.” he murmurs, then raises his eyebrows and gazes at the stars, “But me and Normal don’t get along very well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know, okay?  
> I got, uh, spontaneous.
> 
> Seriously though, this is a 2 am type story. I don't have a specific direction, and I don't know how it's going to end. I guess we'll all be surprised... If I get around to finishing it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast. There's a reason most people don't wake up bright and early to eat their wheaties.

   It’s strange to think that maybe if he’d just stayed, not spent all that money on plane tickets and down payments in London. If he’d just turned around and went home, unpacked. Maybe his life would just be that much easier  _now_. But he wakes up in the morning with Laura curled up in his arms, and he thinks it’s worth it.

   He scoops her up and heads down stairs.

   Mr. Stilinski is just leaving for work when Stiles walks into the living room, sleepy toddler in tow.

   His dad flings the door open and looks over his shoulder.

   ”Hey, you have a visitor. I’m gonna be late, love ya kiddo, bye!” And he’s gone.

   Stiles is just about to run back up the stairs and hide in his room with Laura, maybe put a shirt on, fix his hair, and her’s. But a voice stops him.

   ”Stiles! Hey man your dad told me to come in and wai-” Scott’s voice trails off behind him. Stiles turns slowly and the two year old eyes Scott. “What is, uh, _who_  is that?”

   Laura hides her face in Stiles’ neck and groans.

   ”She’s uh, shy.” Stiles says lamely. “Scott,” Stiles says, and summons his bravery. Why,  _why_  did he decide to come home? He could have just stayed in London, avoided all of this. He takes a deep breath. “Scott this is Laura Alexandra Stilinski. My daughter.”

   Scott’s jaw  _drops_. Stiles is surprised it doesn’t hit the floor, it drops so hard. They stand there like statues, long enough for Laura to come back out of her hiding place.

   ”You had a baby.” Scott finally says, “ _You_  had a  _baby_!”

   ”Well, technically I didn’t, but I helped.” Stiles murmurs.

   ”You were gone four years! No goodbye, no letters, you had a girlfriend, and you  _had_  a  _baby_!” he throws his hands up. Laura makes a sad, scared sort of noise and hides again. Scott immediately tones it down, “I’m sorry, sorry.” he coos. He reaches out to pat her back, but stops himself, then looks at Stiles again. “Dude, are you even the same person?” he jokes halfheartedly. Stiles can tell he’s hurt, though. “I mean I half intended to name my kid after you if I had a son, but I didn’t even know you had a child.”

   ”I’m sorry.” is all Stiles can say.

   ”Why didn’t you tell me?”

   ”I just,” Stiles searches for a reason that won’t sound pathetic, but he can’t really find one, “I needed to get away. And when I finally did, I found Becca. I just got caught up.” He sighs when Scott frowns again. “I have to get her breakfast. If you’d like to follow me into the kitchen, I can continue making lame-ass excuses.” he turns before he can get an answer and heads for the kitchen. Scott follows.

   ”Are you mad?” Stiles asks as he sets a bowl of warm oatmeal in front of his daughter.

   Scott, who’d been sitting quietly across the table until now, looks up and stares for a moment.

   ”No.” he says simply. He looks down again, stares at his hands folded on the table and ignores how surprised Stiles looks. “Why should I be? You’re still my best friend, Stiles. So you left for a while. You came back. And you had a reason for leaving. Albeit maybe not a good reason. But you were nineteen. Stiles, if I were in your shoes I probably would have done the same thing.” he looks up and Stiles looks like he might cry. “Also, it seems like you’ve had a pretty rough time. So even if I thought I had a valid reason to be angry, I think you’ve been punished enough.”

   ”Thank you.” Stiles says quietly, and forces the tears back. He rubs at his eyes and sits next to Laura, who is eating messily, and watching them converse.

   ”So, does anyone know?” Scott tilts his head toward Laura.

   ” _No_. And please don’t tell  _anyone_ yet. Please, not even Allison.”

   He sighs, looks like he might protest, but nods. “I won’t. As long as you will. Soon.”

   ”I will. I just need a few days.”

   ”Ok. Alright.” Scott frowns, sniffs the air, “It’s strange, y’know. You don’t smell different. I mean you  _do_. Obviously you smell different. But there’s something about your scent that hasn’t changed…”

   Stiles cringes and hopes,  _really hopes_ , Scott doesn’t recognize what he’s smelling. He’s thinking now, he should have taken a week or two to prepare himself before he came home. Because he’d intended to tell his friends everything. But this is all moving a little too fast for his liking.

   ”Wolf.” Scott whispers and his eyebrows pull together. Stiles breathing hitches and he looks away to hide the silent curse on his lips. “Stiles, I’m pretty sure you’ve been gone too long, and not home long enough to smell like wolf because of us.”

   ”Yeah! Uh, about that…” he trails off, scratches the back of his head and takes a deep breath.

   ”Stiles.” Scott pushes.

\- - -

   ”Stiles,” it’s quiet, weak, but it wakes him up. He sits up on the couch.

   ”Becca?” he rubs his eyes and looks up at his fiance. He’s startled by what he sees. She looks… better. Not much, but she’s standing straight, and she looks awake.

   ”Sorry darling, I didn’t want to wake you.” She actually smiles, for the first time in a week. Stiles doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does remember being awake all night, taking care of her. “I, uh, I need you to do me a favor.”

   He stands and takes her hands in his out of habit, trying to steady her. But he realizes he doesn’t need to. She’s standing steady on her own. “Anything.” he promises.

   ”It’s five-thirty.” She smiles again, “Listen, the sun’s going down soon, so I need you to hurry, ok? Where’s Laura?”

   ”She’s napping, in the nursery.” He points to the baby monitor on the coffee table and tries not to sound as worried as he feels. “What’s wrong? What do I have to do?”

   ”This is gonna sound strange. Really strange. But I need you to… chain me up.” Her eyes search his face as her hand clenches his sleeve. “Please.”

   ”Wh- Yeah, Becca, that’s really strange. I mean, you haven’t exactly been up for that kind of thing ever since- Wait… what do you mean  _chain you up_? Like, _how_?”

   She lets out a short huff of air that barely passes for a laugh.

   ”I mean, there’s a walk-in closet in our bedroom and behind my clothes are metal bars. And I need you to use these,” she holds up a shiny pair of handcuffs, “to keep me there till morning. And then I need you to put Laura in the car, and take her to Mum’s.”

   Stiles’ mind races for just a second before settling abruptly. Like a car picked up by a tornado and sent crashing violently to the ground a few hundred yards away.

   ”It’s a full moon.” he whispers.

   She’s startled for just a moment, but schools her features and nods.

   ”So, you know.”

   ”Yeah- I mean, I know werewolves exist. But I didn’t know I was about to freaking marry one!” Stiles throws his hands up. Rebecca takes a step back and crosses her arms. “Three y-… Becca, three years! Why didn’t you tell me?”

    “I didn’t need to. I was in control, Stiles. I’ve been in control since I was eighteen. But I’m weak now. And I can’t… I just… can’t anymore.”

   ”You’ve been a werewolf since you were eighteen?” He stops flailing and looks at her.

   She shakes her head.

   ”Longer?”

   ”I’ve been a werewolf since I was born.”

   Suddenly all the air is gone from his lungs. He thinks of Laura.

   ”But you can’t be… Becca you’re sick. Werewolves don’t get sick, right?”

   She sighs, steps forward and hugs him tightly. He’s at a loss. All he can do is clutch at her and feel his world spiraling.

   ”Even dogs get cancer, Love.”

\- - -

   ”Laura go play in the living room. Ok, baby?” Stiles kisses her forehead. She nods, slides unsteadily off the chair and makes her way out of the room.

   ”Stiles were you hanging around werewolves in London?” Scott hisses as soon as Laura is out of sight. “Because that would kinda make your reason for leaving  _completely_  null and void!”

   ”I know!” Stiles hisses back, “I know, Scott. But I wasn’t exactly doing it on purpose, ok?”

   ”Was it one of your friends? Was there more than one? Stiles, were you part of another pack?” That last question is quieter. Stiles thinks for a fleeting moment that it’s beginning to sound like he cheated on Scott. But in a way, if he’d been part of another pack, it would be kinda like he did.

   ”No. No, Scott… It was Rebecca.” Stiles says. He drops his gaze. “I had no clue until about six months ago, when she was too weak to hide it anymore. She was born a werewolf, apparently. Both parents.”

   ”Oh.” Scott’s breath wooshes out of him, and Stiles thinks his face probably looked about the same when he found out. “Both- wait. Both of her parents?”

   ”And their parents. And their parents. It goes on. She was one-hundred percent werewolf. Very proud lineage apparently. Probably had AKC papers.” He huffs a short laugh, and hates himself for it.

   A dog joke. About his dead fiance. Classy.

   ”But that means…” Scott trails off. He leans out of his chair until he can see Laura around the corner, sitting against the couch.

   ”Yeah. Fifty percent chance.” Stiles says.

   ”Fifty percent.” Scott echoes. He tears his eyes away from the toddler and looks back at Stiles. “Why aren’t you more freaked about this, man!?”

   ”I’ve had six months to be freaked about it. Now I’m just…” he takes a breath, stares at his hands, “Just waiting.”

   "So, when will you know?"

   "Not for a while. But I'm pretty sure... There's already signs, Scott. She hears things I can't. She eats way more meat than any two-year-old should. She started walking months before she should have. I'll turn around for a minute and she'll be up on the counter. And I don't think she even  _feels_ pain." Stiles runs his hands through his hair.

   "Yeah," Scott breathes. "But what if she is? Didn't you just take her away from her pack?"

   " _No._ No I did not. Rebecca's family are a group of crazy wolf supremisists. They're _not_ a _pack_. That's why she left them in the first place. They didn't like me. They let me know, after I found out they were werewolves. If Laura _is_ a werewolf, she is going to be raised in  _my_ pack _._ _Our_ pack. I realize 'Derek's not your Alpha'," Stiles mimicks Scott, "but you are still part of the pack. Apparently I still am. And she will be too." He breathes again. Realizing only now that he'd had that pretty pent up for the past couple months. "Sorry. That was a bit of a rant." _  
_

   "Yeah."

   "I just... This is hard to admit. I'm going to really need you guys. Scott, I need help."

   "I know." Scott smiles at his best friend, and it fills Stiles with a sort of comfort and reassurance he hadn't had in two years. "I mean, I'm not very well educated on... _wolf pups_. Actually there's only one person I do know that knows about-"

   " _Don't_ say it." Stiles spits.

   "The only person that knows about that kind of thing is Derek. You know it." Scott crosses his arms.

   "I know." Stiles groans, and mopes. "He's just... the only one I was really hoping to avoid for, y'know, as long as possible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short, I know.  
> I was going to write more, but this felt like a good place to end this chapter.  
> If I'm an idiot... let me know.
> 
> And hey, I'm writing quite a bit, for someone who doesn't know if they're going to continue a story.
> 
> One last thing. This isn't beta'd. I'm cool with that. But if there's spelling mistakes, typos, or jacked grammar... that's why.

**Author's Note:**

> Omg. Please ignore this. I don't even know if I'm going to continue. I was just really bored, and really tired, and just... this happened.


End file.
